


laws of the game

by orphan_account



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, a great degree of self-indulgence on the author's part, also this is a Jokaste-positive space so if you don't like her too bad, also this is australian as shit I'm not sorry, ridiculous university AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-19 17:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11318322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Two immense dorks with really big crushes on eachother take a really long time to figure it out, much to the amusement of everyone around them. Set in a university! Studying! House parties! Inexplicable rugby metaphors!





	1. spoons (across the gain line)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost entirely prompted by the tumblr-generated headcanon that Damen is one of those bastards who never has to study.
> 
> The rest came from looking up spoons on wikipedia and finding an entire subsection to the article entitled 'strategy'.
> 
> This is endlessly silly but it's also too long for me not to put up here, damn the consequences.

It's just hit 11:30pm. Damen has downed... well, he's honestly not sure how many beers; his wizard staff is respectable, but he's still utterly thrashing Nikandros at beer pong.

"Have mercy, man," Nikandros begs from the other side of the table, chalking up another point under Damen's name on the board.

Damen grins at him. "You suggested this, Delpha. If you'd like to try something else there's a ton of other games we could play."

"You started this party with Tequila Sixes." Nikandros' tone is pitiful, at odds with the reluctant answering grin on his face. "You're the undisputed emperor of drinking, all right, I can't compete-"

"Bullshit," Damen scoffs. "You need to practice. Pick a game!"

Whatever fateful choice Nikandros is about to make is interrupted by the doorbell, being rung a number of times in quick succession. "Music!" Damen hisses at Pallas, across the room, who turns it down a few decibels obligingly. He scoots over to the front door, carefully leaning the staff behind the hinges and out of sight. Pastes his best winning smile on his face, entirely prepared to send Mrs Elliot away with a sincere promise to _keep the noise down, yes we're terribly sorry ma'am_ , and pulls the door open.

It is definitely not Mrs Elliot at the door.

It is definitely the most beautiful person Damen has ever seen, and he is _definitely_ vibrating with rage.

"It's a _school_ _night_ ," he says, before Damen can say a thing. "It's _exam_ _period_. It's practically midnight!" His eyes flick up and down, taking in Damen's jersey and footy shorts, and he sneers. "Oh, I see, rugby scholarship means no exams? Or, let me guess, they get the _commerce_  exams out of the way early so you've all got time to drink your brains out?"

"Problem, Damen?" Nikandros asks from behind him.

"Nah, it's fine," he says, without taking his eyes off Beautiful and Enraged. "Sorry, mate. We'll keep it down. For the record though, Business and International Relations. No need to be dismissive just because I play sport."

Beautiful and Enraged's eyes narrow. "International Relations. You can't be third year."

Damen puts on his best affable smile. "Uh, yeah, I am, actually." He holds out his hand. "I'm Damen."

"The foreign policy exam is on Tuesday. It's Sunday." He looks, if possible, angrier. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Damen chuckles. "It's in the arvo! We've still got like, two whole days to study." He opens the door wider. "Why don't you come in and have a drink? A beer'll probably relax your brain, help you take in more info."

Nikandros says, "Oh, hey Laurent."

"Delpha. Surely you know better than this." Beautiful and Enraged - Laurent - gestures at Damen. "You're letting other rugby hooligans ruin your study schedule?"

Nikandros rubs the back of his neck. "He's a very convincing hooligan, unfortunately."

"You know eachother?" Damen asks, pleased to have another connection with Beautiful, Enraged Laurent. Nikandros shoots him a complex look which Damen decodes as ' _don't even think about it, mate._ '

'We're in the same Advanced Legal Theory class," Nikandros tells him. "Laurent spins a pen at the start of tutorials and argues to the death against whoever it points at." He grins at Laurent. "Tuesday's your last exam, surely you've read the brick back to front by now."

"Not the point," Laurent says, but Damen can see that he's wavering, so he follows his instincts and presses his advantage. He pulls out the spare tinny in his shorts pocket and cracks it.

"Best sound in the world," he says, entreating, and he can see the exact moment Laurent folds; his expression doesn't change but something in his eyes softens.

"All right," he concedes. "But I'm not drinking your warm shorts beer, particularly not if it's fucking VB, you animal."

"It's cheap," Damen protests, but Laurent is already shouldering past him into the house, immediately taking in the beer pong and cards tables, the beer bong wedged in the sliding door to the yard, and the enormous chalkboard across the back wall proudly emblazoned with the word 'BEERLYMPICS' in green and yellow chalk. He turns back to Damen and Nikandros, eyes narrow.

"Are you seriously holding a drinking games night before exams are over," he says, flatly.

"Everyone else who's here has finished exams," Damen says. "And they're all munted, so..."

He's not wrong. The rest of the rugby team are lying around on various pieces of furniture - or the floor - barely managing to maintain slurred, incomprehensible conversations. They'd won their game that day, after all.

Laurent throws up his hands. "Fine. Fine! I'll have a single beer." A crafty expression flashes briefly over his face, and he follows with "How's this. We play spoons. If you win, tomorrow I'll send you all the notes I've already prepared for the exam - Nikandros has seen my fucking summaries, he knows they're the shit."

"It's true," Nikandros says, helpfully.

"Ok, sure," Damen says, and doesn't follow with ' _I've never used a summary in my life and I don't intend to start now'_  because somehow he feels like that might cut this interaction a little bit short. "And if you win?"

Laurent's eyes narrow. "The party ends. The music turns off. You give me _all_  of your study notes, and since you're so fucking cocky, you go through my problem exam questions and tell me what you would've done differently."

"You've done multiple problem exam questions?" Damen says mildly. "Already?"

Laurent ignores him. "Get me a beer," he says, imperiously, to Nikandros, who salutes him sardonically and heads to the kitchen. "That isn't VB!" Laurent shouts after him.

They're alone for a moment, and Damen sips his beer, staring at Laurent over the edge of the can. "Why haven't I seen you in classes before?"

"I don't go to lectures," Laurent says. "I listen to the recordings later at double speed."

Damen can't help but grin. "You know, mate... that's pretty fucking extra."

Laurent looks as though he's about to retort but then subsides. "Probably," he says. "It was my brother's technique, and it worked for him, so."

Nikandros re-enters the room, having somehow found a can of Crankshaft at the back of the fridge. He tosses it to Laurent, who snatches it out of the air, one-handed. Damen is secretly impressed. "Does that meet your standards, your Highness?"

"It'll do," Laurent says, primly, and cracks it, seating himself at the table with a remarkable degree of grace. "Are we playing or what?"

The first round goes easily. Damen scores four sevens early on in the piece and immediately lunges for a spoon. Laurent matches him, whip-quick, but not quite quick enough to beat Nikandros, who knows how to read Damen after years playing scrum-half to his fly-half. He's left spoonless, and Damen can't help the smug expression on his face. "So should I give you my email for the summaries, or-"

"Double or nothing," Laurent says grimly, abruptly, and drinks.

Damen is delighted and can't help how it shows in his voice. "What's the double-bet, then?"

"Next semester's summaries," Laurent says, rushing, as though it pains him to say. "And- you have to-"

"Study group," Nikandros supplies. "I should've said, Laurent, this is my asshole friend who aces all the exams without trying. It'd be punishment enough for him to have to sit down and actually study for hours every week."

The look Laurent turns on Damen is nothing short of murderous. "I fucking hate people like you, god, it drives me insane-"

Damen can't help but laugh. "I've heard it all from Nik already! I'm sorry, I don't do it on purpose." He props his chin in his hand and gives Laurent his best winning smile. "If it helps, I'm really shit at the theory subjects, which is why I don't do them."

Laurent takes another swig of his beer. "It doesn't, but I'm glad you're bad at something." He screws up his face. "Something else. You're also bad at music taste, this is awful."

Damen laughs, again. Charmed. "It's the Hottest 100 from last year."

"It's shit," Laurent mutters. "Are we doing this?"

Damen doles out the cards again. This time, they run through the entire pack without any snatching for the spoons. Damen starts again from the discard pile and almost immediately assembles four nines, but when he lunges for the spoons there's only one remaining and the same instinct that helped Nikandros before helps him now - that, and being slightly closer to the spoons than Damen is. Bereft, Damen looks up at Laurent, who cocks an eyebrow and waggles the spoon he'd secreted away up his sleeve. "Four jacks. You just weren't paying attention."

"Oh, I see!" He can't help being a little bit impressed. "Playing the subtle game, are we? I guess that makes this the decider?"

"Give me strength," Nikandros mutters, and tosses his cards at Laurent. "I think you guys should make this mano-a-mano, just so there's no doubt about the result."

Laurent shuffles expertly, like a dealer. His fingers are finely-boned, elegant, and Damen can't help but stare, the beer starting to make his head swim. When he looks up, Laurent is watching him, impassive, although his eyes are dancing. He keeps his eyes on Damen as he doles out the cards, and smirks. "Ready to play?"

It's another short match, in the end. Damen accumulates all four kings relatively quickly, but he fumbles the last card. Laurent, whose gaze hasn't moved from Damen the whole round, accurately interprets the fumble and pounces on the spoon. Later, Damen tells himself it's because his reflexes were dulled by alcohol and not because he was severely unnerved by the staring.

"Ha!" Laurent crows, and brandishes the spoon at Damen. "Study group! Read my problem questions! Turn the fucking shitty music off!"

"Ok, ok," Damen tells him. Nikandros is already halfway across the room to the stereo. "Night's almost over anyway." He throws a half-smile in Laurent's direction. "You outplayed me. I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

Laurent's triumphant expression dims slightly. "Uh," he says. "I guess, yeah." He stands up, abruptly. "I just live across the road. Number nine." He drains the rest of his beer. "Is 11am going to be too difficult for your drunk arse, or...?"

"He'll be up by then - he does a 5K at 8:30 on weekdays," Nikandros says.

"Of course he fucking does," Laurent mutters. "Okay. Eleven. No excuses. I want you to tear me - my _exam answers_ apart."

"Sure," Damen says, unable to suppress the mirth in his voice. "11am. Tear your answers apart. Got it."

"Great," Laurent says. Damen wouldn't exactly describe his method of egress as 'fleeing' but it's a close call. The screen door bangs shut behind him.

"Damianos Akielos," Nikandros says, formally. "You are the world's most obvious, most thirsty, most ridiculous individual."

"You're the one who signed me up to study group," Damen tells him. "Anyway, he seems nice."

Nikandros sighs. "You're a fucking lost cause, mate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auguste works for an NGO. When Laurent recounts this story to him he finds it extremely funny.
> 
> I'm @rqtheory_ on twitter if you want to yell at me about these beautiful sons of ours.
> 
> Munted: drunk.  
> Tinny: a can of beer.  
> VB: terrible beer.  
> Crankshaft: way better, craft beer - but it's also more alcoholic than VB.  
> Scrum-half/fly-half/rugby/gain line: arcane, weird sport terms.  
> Hottest 100: the world's biggest music poll, apparently, and definitely beloved of uni students.


	2. exam preparation (kick restart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurent and Damen study. Damen has no manners. Laurent has no chance.

Damen rings Laurent's doorbell at 11:03am. It takes him precisely 30 seconds to open the door, and Damen raises his eyebrows and gestures at his backpack. "Study time?"

Laurent hesitates, and says, "I owe you an apology."

"What for?"

"I was - very abrupt last night. Don't get me wrong, loud music on a Sunday is a dick move, but I shouldn't’ve been so rude."

Damen smiles easily. "Honestly mate, it's all good. I get it. Shall we?"

Laurent hesitates a moment more and then swings the door open and gestures Damen past. “Sure.”

Number 9 is a duplex, modern, and the space is remarkably clean and austere for something a student lives in, particularly in light of Damen’s shabby group house filled with spare sporting gear and a completely incongruent series of movie posters. “Nice place,” he says.

“It belongs to my brother,” Laurent tells him, following Damen down the hallway into a living area off a small but well-equipped kitchen, drenched in morning sunlight. “He’s renting it to me while he’s overseas.” He detours into the kitchen. “Tea?”

“Sounds good,” Damen says, setting himself up at the table in the living area. “White with one, please. What’s your wifi password?”

“Uh, it’s randomly generated. Easier for me to just type it.”

Damen drums his fingers on the table as he waits for his laptop to boot up, surreptitiously staring around the living room. There are framed photographic prints on the walls - one is definitely Paris, and the others are also presumably famous cities. It’s very - it’s what Jo would’ve called ‘scandi’, sparse and pale and aesthetically appealing. He recognises the same IKEA sidetable that he had in his first ever group house, although this one is still pristine and his had definitely been worse for wear within a couple of months.

Laurent scoots around the corner with two cups of tea and hands Damen a mug with the scrabble tile ‘A’ on it. His own has ‘L’, and Damen says, “This your brother’s?”

Laurent nods. “Auguste, yeah. He thought it was funny for me to have a special mug when I came round to his place.” He leans over Damen and taps in his wifi password. It’s casual, thoughtless, but Damen can suddenly smell - citrus, and something woody. Laurent’s hair feathers against his cheek and he brushes against Damen’s shoulder as he leans back. “All done.”

Damen tells himself firmly to stop it, and pulls his study notes out of his bag. He’d put on a big show about being casual about the exam last night because it had seemed to rile Laurent up, but the truth was he had, of course, already made _some_ notes. It was a third year subject after all, and Damen is pretty sure you can actually fail those.

He hands the notes to Laurent with a flourish, who accepts them in a similar vein. He starts to flick through them and almost immediately begins to frown, and then looks up at Damen. “What is this? Where are your real notes?”

“That’s them,” Damen tells him. 

“They don’t make any sense,” Laurent complains. “What - it’s all just muddled-”

“It’s themes,” Damen explains, leaning over into Laurent’s space to point at the notes. “Organising historical information into timelines and shit always seemed really pointless to me, like, why would you bother memorising a list of dates and facts and whatever? It’s boring! Turn them into patterns of strategy and approach and it makes a lot more sense.”

Laurent flicks through the notes again, a small wrinkle between his eyes which Damen admits privately is very cute. “You should be doing law,” he says, looking back at Damen.

“God, after how Nikandros complains? Hell no.” Damen laughs. “My dad wants me to take over his business, I had to do a shitload of work to convince him that it was worthwhile even doing IR. He thought, get in, smash out a business degree, get straight out. I think I would have drowned in boredom by midway through second year.”

Laurent gives him a calculating look, but doesn’t say anything, and then eventually starts copying out Damen’s notes. They study in mostly-silence; Laurent occasionally asking Damen how he’s categorised a particular event or approach, and Damen ultimately volunteering his thoughts on how each week’s work fits into the themes of the course. “Milston’s thesis was on retrenchment,” he finally tells Laurent, which was a small tidbit he’d discovered in week two and kept to himself, but he now feels compelled to share by some clearly self-sabotaging impulse he can’t control. “He basically argues that in periods of extreme volatility it’s justified so I think if you go down that route for an essay question you’ll be on safe ground.”

“How long ago was that? It’s possible he might’ve changed his view,” Laurent counters. “And besides, you don’t think he’ll know if you parrot his views back at him?”

“Of course he’ll know,” Damen agrees. “Academics love that shit though, he’ll eat it up.”

“Hmm,” Laurent says, skeptically.

They study mostly in silence, trading the odd thought back and forth, Damen answering Laurent’s challenges with good-natured competitiveness. By the time 1pm hits, it’s been long enough since his morning protein that Damen’s got no hope of stifling the loud noise of protest his stomach makes which echoes loudly through the room.

Laurent blinks, and focuses on Damen, who stares awkwardly back at him. “Oh, god! I didn’t even think - of course, sorry, I’ve got stuff for toasted sandwiches if that’s ok?”

“Fine with me,” Damen says. “You got mustard?”

They adjourn to the kitchen, Laurent pulling out some kind of artisanal bread as he directs Damen around to set up the sandwich press and gather glasses from a high shelf, which Damen takes as an opportunity to lean over Laurent as he’s collecting condiments out of the fridge. He can feel Laurent freeze and is about to move back out of his space - no harm no foul - when Laurent hip-checks him and says “Were you raised by wolves? Just wait.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Damen says, backing away with a grin on his face. “Just trying to be efficient.” Laurent rolls his eyes and Damen feels a spike of - something, which he squashes immediately, enjoying Laurent’s company too much to head down the route of a brief, meaningless interlude. Not to mention he doesn’t even know whether Laurent would be interested.

He’s musing on this as they stand side-by-side at the kitchen bench assembling toasties - Laurent makes himself a single, beautifully-crafted sandwich while Damen enthusiastically experiments with various chutneys and puts three different versions together, Laurent regarding him with no small amount of astonishment. “You’re going to eat _three_?”

Damen shrugs. “I went for a run this morning.”

“So you did,” Laurent agrees, sounding bemused, watching as Damen eats an entire toasted sandwich in about three bites. They’re good - Laurent’s got the fancy ham from the farmer’s markets, and Damen almost feels guilty about eating three sandwiches worth. Almost. But, he figures, he was basically coerced into this.

He’s licking mustard off his fingers after his final few bites and Laurent pulls a disgusted face. “Come on. You really _were_ raised by wolves, weren’t you.”

“It’s good mustard,” Damen protests. “We’ve only got the terrible Woolies shit that comes in like, a litre squeezy bottle.”

“Don’t be revolting,” Laurent says, and smacks his arm. Damen puts up his hands, laughing, and lets himself be shepherded back to the living room.

They spend the afternoon firing revision questions back and forth, and honestly, while Laurent had been taken aback by Damen's notes he's either absorbed them in the space of a couple of hours or he knew the course material too well to have needed them, because Damen can't fault him, even with his knowledge of Milston’s own views. Finally, at around 4:30, he puts up a hand in surrender, and says, "You know, I don't think you could be better prepared for this exam than you are."

Laurent shakes his head, once, sharp. "You can always know more. I can't just - I can't settle."

Damen smiles at him, genuine. "I'm pretty sure you've done more study than ninety percent of the people in the course. I don't think you're settling. You're across it, mate."

Laurent is silent for a moment, and he looks like he's secretly pleased, but then he shakes himself and says, "That's all well and good, but - you're across it, too. And now I have to beat you."

Damen is well-versed in good-natured rivalry. “Oh, I see. Are we betting on this one too?”

Laurent snorts. “Absolutely not, I’ve already got you locked in to a study group all of next semester.” He stretches, rolls out his neck.

"You scared?"

"No, I just know when I've got the strategic advantage." He raises his eyebrows at Damen. "Keen to see what you're like when you spend the semester studying, instead of just exam period."

"I think you'll find me _very_ impressive," Damen says, unable to help himself, and is gratified by the smirk Laurent tries very hard to suppress. It strikes him then that he very much doesn't want to leave and would be quite happy to hang out with Laurent for the rest of the evening, but it's not to be - Laurent is frowning at his watch.

"I didn't realise how late it was," he says. "I've got a - thing - at 5, I'll have to go in a sec."

"A thing?" Damen says, voice sharper than he intends. _A date?_

"Yes, a thing," Laurent says, pointedly. "Sorry to cut this short, but - thanks, I really appreciate you coming around. Even though it's because I kicked your arse at spoons."

"No problem," Damen tells him, ignoring his disappointment. "Thank you, this was good." He smiles. "Looking forward to next semester, maybe you'll help me improve my marks. I've always wanted to get _high_ distinctions."

Laurent glares at him. "You're trolling me, aren't you."

"Yep!" Damen says, cheerfully, shoving his laptop into his bag. "Did it work?"

"Get out of my house."

Damen chuckles for a moment, and Laurent relents, laughing along with him. “You think you’re funny.”

“Gonna go into standup,” Damen agrees, hoisting his bag over his shoulder as he rises. They’re suddenly face to face and Damen is keenly aware of how much taller and broader than Laurent he is. The look on Laurent’s face says he’s well aware of it, but he quickly steps back and away and gestures down the corridor. Damen takes the hint and makes his way to the front door, but lingers in the doorway, not really wanting to leave.

“See you Tuesday?” Laurent asks.

“See you then,” Damen agrees, and then, because he can’t resist, “Good luck with your thing.”

“Thanks,” Laurent says, dryly.

Damen manages to make his way back over the road to his house without looking forlornly back at Laurent’s door. He drops his backpack next to the welcome mat inside and ambles through the house, to the living room where Nik and Pallas are playing through Left 4 Dead for probably the thousandth time.

“How’d it go?” Nik asks, without looking up from taking out a boomer. Pallas is steadily swearing under his breath. 

Damen jumps over the back of the couch to land between them, provoking a slightly louder stream of swearing from Pallas. He stretches his arms out along the back of the couch and tips his head back, sighing.

“That bad, huh,” Nik says to him. 

“No, no.” Damen stares at the slightly yellowed water stains on the ceiling of the living room. “It was fine, actually. It was good. He was pretty nice.”

Nikandros actually pauses the game. “Pretty nice?”

Damen tips his head to the side to regard Nikandros, who’s turned towards Damen now and slung his own arm behind the back of the couch. “Yeah, he was fine. We had toasted sandwiches and talked about retrenchment for hours. He made me tea in his brother’s mug.”

Nikandros’ eyebrows climb towards his hairline. “Fine. Laurent deVere. Eviscerator of people who disagree with his views in tutes. That Laurent? Fine?”

“Well, he’s nice to me,” Damen says, trying not to sound smug. “You jealous?”

Nikandros looks like he's about to say something rude but then changes tack. "Just look after yourself, all right? He can be prickly, and I know what you're like."

"We're studying together, Nik, not getting married."

Nikandros raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything, unlike Pallas, who comments, “Friends who study together, buddy together... _if you know what I mean_.”

“Noone knows what that means,” Nikandros says, bluntly. “You’re talking shit.” He unpauses the game again and Pallas lunges forward to concentrate. “Let’s close out this level and get the recovery barbie started, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, 'spoons' was meant to be a silly one-shot I bashed out as part of writer's pages but then this happened. I think there are probably four more chapters in it.


	3. study group (territory gains)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurent makes a friend. Damen skives off study. They talk about education funding.

Damen’s phone buzzes. He and Nikandros are in the garage, playing pingpong and drinking beers on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Nikandros is up, for once, and he’s reveling in it.

“Waitasec,” Damen says, tapping the ping-pong ball down underneath his paddle. Nikandros starts to protest - Damen waves him away.

It’s a text from Laurent, who'd insisted on getting his number after the exam 'because if you think you're going to weasel out of this study arrangement I've got news for you.'

_How’d you do?_

Results were released yesterday. Damen is privately surprised Laurent managed to wait a whole 24 hours before quizzing him on them.

_D overall. Probably a C on the exam._

_Nice._

Damen starts smiling, almost certain the short reply is a precursor to something longer and more smug.

_Ended up with an HD, actually._

He laughs out loud at that, and Nikandros says, “Who is it?” Damen shakes his head, and Nikandros says, suspiciously, “Are you dating someone you haven’t told me about?”

“No,” Damen says, more forcefully than he intends. “It’s Laurent.”

Nikandros huffs a sigh. “Of course it is.”

“He’s just gloating about his marks,” Damen says, insistent.

“No doubt,” Nikandros says, and finishes his beer.

_Oh, I see! You win, deVere. This semester, anyway_

_I’m looking forward to two in a row. Would that make fourth year the decider?_

_Are you using the language of my sport against me?_

_Which one is that again? League?_

_Low fucking blow, mate_

_IR theory lectures are 1-3 Tuesdays btw. You ok to head to the library after?_

_I like to study straight after lectures to get things stuck in my head._

_Sounds good as long as you admit that league is the worst code_

_Honestly? I can’t even tell them apart._

_We’re not friends_

_\--_

A few weeks later, after their first International Relations Theory lecture, Laurent makes a beeline for Damen as they’re leaving the theatre. 

“How was your winter break?” Damen says, cheerfully, before Laurent can say anything. 

“Um. Yeah, good,” Laurent says, cautious. “Yours?”

“Mostly training and ping-pong. Nothing notable. Hey you want to grab a coffee first? I’m in struggletown.”

“Sure,” Laurent says. “I’m a benevolent victor.”

Damen insists on heading halfway across campus 'because all the other cafes' coffee is pissweak'; ordinarily Laurent would put his foot down but he finds himself happy to be led.

Damen orders some enormous monstrosity with flavoured syrup and Laurent a long black, and they’ve propped themselves against the bar to wait when an extremely attractive woman walks into the cafe, looks around, and makes an immediate beeline for Damen.

"Jo!" Damen says when he sees her, real joy and fondness in his voice, sweeping her up in an enthusiastic hug. She rocks back a little when he releases her, looking slightly dazed, and Laurent tamps down a sudden flare of - something. "I thought you were still in London!"

"Came back a week early so I could get my timetable in order," she tells him. "How are you?"

"Yeah, good! The team’s been really good this year, we’re in finals again of course. Exams went pretty well. Oh!" He turns to Laurent, claps a friendly - and very solid - hand on his shoulder. "This is Laurent, I lost a bet so I've got to help him study this semester."

"Hi," Laurent says, and Jo smiles at him, but it's the same smile Laurent's sure is on his own face - a professional, impenetrable one.

"Ah, shit, that's Nathan," Damen says, squinting across the quad. "Laurent can you grab my order when they call it? Back in a sec." He jogs away, leaving the two of them staring at eachother.

"It’s Jokaste, by the way,” she says, and the tone of her voice makes it perfectly clear how she feels about Damen’s one-sided introduction. “Nice to meet you, Laurent. How do you know Damen?" She's got a sharp scarlet and gold manicure. It suits her perfectly.

He considers dissembling and discards the notion almost immediately; there’s something in the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her head which is screaming at him not to underestimate her. "He had a loud party during exam period last semester and I went to his front door to shout at him about it." She smiles again, slightly more genuine this time. "What about you?"

"Oh, we dated in first year," she says, and there's something in the studied casualness of her tone which puts him on the defensive. "He's very... affecting, but also a bit fickle, as it turns out." She transfers a stack of art history textbooks from one arm to the other and looks at Laurent from underneath perfect lashes. "A good friend, though."

"I see," he hears himself say. “I’ll be sure to keep winning bets then. Would you say using his sense of obligation against him is the best way to keep him under wraps?”

Jokaste gives him a startled look and then bursts into laughter. “Oh, I like you,” she says. “Give him hell for me, won’t you?”

“I’ll give him hell for my own reasons,” Laurent tells her, and she laughs again.

“What’s your last name? I’m adding you on facebook.”

Laurent thinks, _to hell with it_ , and tells her, which is when the barista calls his and Damen’s names and he heads over to pick up the coffees, his phone buzzing with Jo’s friend request.

By the time he’s tossed the receipt and balanced the coffees and his shoulder-bag, Damen has returned. He’s talking earnestly to Jokaste when Laurent gets back to them and hands Damen his coffee.

“Well, I better head,” Damen says, giving her another one-armed hug. “Take care, won’t you? Let’s catch up about London soon.”

“Oh, absolutely,” she says, and raises her eyebrows at Laurent. “Let’s do coffee too, shall we?”

“Sure,” Laurent says, smiling at her. He walks away with Damen, and once they’re definitely out of earshot, casually says,"You can stay to catch up with her if you like. We can study another time."

Damen looks at him, surprised. "You were all intense about doing it directly after lectures."

"Yeah, but seems like you guys haven't seen eachother in a while, and-"

Damen laughs. "Oh, Jo's a small-doses kind of person. We get on well at first but we'd've been at eachother's throats in half an hour. Different priorities, you know."

"I see," he says.

"She broke up with me because I didn't want to go into student politics," Damen says, ruefully. "She thought between the two of us we could tie up most of the political power at the uni. But, I don’t know," he shrugs, “it just seemed so empty, you know? Lots of schmoozing and trying to figure out how you could use your friends to get yourself ahead.”

Laurent can't think of a thing to say to that, and finally manages "You probably could have done it differently.”

Damen grins at him. "Probably. Jokaste’s an expert, though. She doesn’t really need me." He takes a large swig of his coffee. “So what’s the plan for this study session then?

\--

Laurent had honestly given their arrangement two weeks before Damen started making sports-related excuses or he himself got sick of it and cancelled. But Damen kept coming to the library without complaint, and Laurent kept finding him insightful and clever, and they kept making notes and arguing out their ideas and sending eachother innocuous, ridiculous texts throughout the week. It’s an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday in late August when they’re sitting together arguing about how domestic politics affect state behaviour and it suddenly hits Laurent that it’s mid-semester break in two weeks. He and Damen have been studying together for more than a month.

He reflects on this, frowning, until Damen waves a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Laurent? What’s going on up there?”

“Hmm? Oh, god, I’m sorry.” Laurent gestures apologetically. “I got distracted.”

“Yes, I saw,” Damen says, and grins at Laurent’s sharp look. “Oh, it’s fine, I feel like that as well. Let’s go study in the sun.”

“You mean, sit in the sun and talk about literally anything other than our study topics?” Laurent asks.

“Come on, it’s finally starting to warm up again, it’s sunny... I know for a fact there’s a mixed touch comp going on on College Oval and a large proportion of the players are very good-looking!”

“Oh so that’s what this is about - you just want to go watch rugby!” Laurent accuses.

“You got me,” Damen says, faux-dramatically. “We can talk about global environmental co-operation while we watch, though.”

“Fine,” Laurent grumbles. “But I want to sit in the shade. I’ll burn.”

“We’ll compromise,” Damen promises.

They do - the ends of the oval are dappled with shade, and Damen foregoes a spot at the halfway line to cater to Laurent’s need not to suffer sunburn when it’s still technically winter. They’re settled in and Damen has yelled a few encouragements at both teams - apparently as a representative of the university’s team he’s ‘not allowed to side with any of the colleges’ - when he says, without taking his eyes off the game, “So, you mentioned your brother was overseas?”

Laurent blinks, unable to remember when he’d talked to Damen about Auguste.

“You told me you rent your place from him.” He had told Damen that, back before the winter break, at that first exam preparation study session.

“You’ve been thinking about that one for a while,” he says, shredding a blade of grass with his nails. “Yeah, he works at the UN.”

Damen whistles. “Impressive gig.”

“He’s an impressive kind of person,” Laurent says, and ignores Damen’s sideways glance. “Always has been. Dux in high school, uni medal, all that stuff.”

“Wow,” Damen says. “Big shoes.”

“Yeah,” Laurent shrugs. “But he’s - we’re close. He helped me a lot with uni, actually. Got me into volunteering, lets me rant over skype about lecturers when he’s dealing with - fucking international politics, you know.”

“Volunteering?”

“Yeah,” Laurent says, slowly, feeling out whether he’s comfortable with sharing that part of himself and finding no strong objection to it. “Yes. Thursday lunchtimes, at a primary school nearby, building meccano models with kids who’re - having difficulties.” There’s a long silence, and he finally looks at Damen, who’s smiling at him. “What?”

“It’s just really cute,” Damen says, and Laurent scowls.

“Shut up. It’s good for them, the program really helps-”

“I’m not mocking you, or it,” Damen says, hands up. “Honestly, that’s really - great? You’re a good person. I just think it’s cute, too. You don’t want to be a teacher?”

“No,” Laurent says, immediately. “One kid one hour a week is enough. Especially this kid.” He hesitates, but then pushes on. “But I do think - I think I could do advocacy for this sort of stuff. There’s not enough support for programs that are outside the black letter curriculum. This one’s on a knife edge, you know, with funding.”

“So like, lobbying, but for good instead of evil,” Damen says. “Yeah, I think you could do it.”

Laurent sighs. “Well, maybe. I don’t know if I can talk fast enough to sell ‘you should spend more money on social programs’ to the government.”

“You just gotta find a corporate sponsor,” Damen says. “Dad’s company pushes a couple of different causes so he can flog it to investors as a feel-good thing, there are plenty of corporates who’re into it these days.”

“Does it,” Laurent says. “He do any education-related stuff?”

Damen frowns. “I’m not sure, but I can ask.” He elbows Laurent gently. “You want me to put forward a pitch for you? I probably could.”

“It’s an idea,” Laurent admits. “Come back to me when I graduate.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jokaste! I love Jokaste, I'll defend her to the death, fight me.


	4. house party (pushed into touch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurent and Auguste chat. Damen goes on a beer run. Laurent talks shop.

“So, I don’t know,” Laurent says, sighing at the screen. “It looks like the program will definitely continue out til the end of the year, but he’s - pushing pretty hard to get it shafted.”

The skype connection crackles and echoes. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Auguste tells him. “Mine your contacts, you’ll figure it out.”

Laurent smiles thinly at the camera. “Thanks. I hope so.” His phone buzzes - a text from Damen.

“Hmm, what’s that expression?” Auguste asks him, straight-faced, but Laurent can tell even through the dodgy video feed that his eyes are bright with a repressed smile.

“What?”

“You look like you got a text from...” he pauses. “...a close friend?”

“It’s just Damen.” Laurent flicks open the text. It says _Mid-sem house party from 7! BYO drinks other than beer, we’ve got food. Will be pretty chilled I’m guessing. Good chats!_

“Ugh, they’re having a party.”

August rolls his eyes. “‘Ugh’? Come on, Laurent. Did he invite you to the party? Go to the party.”

“I really don’t think-”

“How much assessment do you have due over the holidays?”

Laurent sighs, sullen. “None.”

“Go to the party. Don’t be a hermit. If I come back and you’ve lost all your social skills I’m just going to have to spend months dragging you to events with boring diplomatic people to build them up again.”

“Fine. Fine!” He glares at the camera. “But if I’m hungover tomorrow morning I’m going to call you and complain about it.”

Auguste chuckles. “I wouldn’t expect any less.”

They sign off soon after that, and Laurent tips back in his office chair, already teasing out the way the evening will go - he’ll head over to Damen’s house, moon awkwardly over him while he holds court in a room full of rugby players - at least Nikandros has a brain as well, though he doesn’t have a lot of hope for the others - probably drink too much, possibly say something awkward and stupid to Damen and then wake up hungover and full of regret. He knows all of this, and he also knows that he’s going to the party anyway - and not just because Auguste said he should but because he genuinely wants to. Not even the risk that he’ll spend tomorrow morning over-analysing the things he said to determine whether there’s any possibility Damen might have seen through him is enough to stop him going.

So at 7:30 he makes his way over the road, affecting a casualness he absolutely doesn’t feel, the thudding bass coming from Damen’s place aligning quickly with his pulse. Nikandros answers the door when he rings the bell, and grins at him. “Hey, mate. Commcon kicking your arse like it is mine?”

Laurent shrugs. “The Constitution’s a pretty straightforward document, really.”

Nikandros rolls his eyes. “You’re just saying that to piss me off.” He gestures down the corridor. “Welcome to our humble abode, again. Damen’s done a last minute beer run, he should be back soon.”

Laurent waves his bottle of wine. “I BYO’d. Do you have a glass?”

That brings Nikandros up short. “Uh... We’ve probably got some plastic ones somewhere? Lemme check the kitchen, hold on.” Laurent trails him into the kitchen, a little unsure aboutwandering around the house without either Nikandros or Damen there.

“So,” Nikandros says, rummaging through cupboards. “Study sessions are going ok, then?”

“Don’t tell Damen, but he’s very insightful,” Laurent says. He’s always liked Nikandros and feels like he owes him that honesty. “It’s kind of annoying actually.”

A laugh. “Yeah, he’s got a good brain for strategy. Good on the field, obviously. Ha!” He brandishes a red plastic wine glass at Laurent. It has holly leaves drawn on in green glitter glue. “Knew we had one somewhere.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly, taking it and unscrewing his wine.

“So, insightful... anything else? Like, is he focused, or...?”

Laurent slowly pours his wine. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes the reply, but Nikandros’ poker face is shit and his voice gives him away, and Laurent gives him a sharp look.

“Whatever, Delpha, don’t bullshit me. What’s going on? Is he ok?”

Something in Nikandros’ face relaxes. “Oh, he’s fine. I was just trying to figure out if he’d pulled any typical Damen crap like blowing it off to go watch touch games, he did that to me tons.” He sees Laurent’s face. “He _did!_ ”

“Well, he didn’t blow me off,” Laurent admits. “He got me to go with him.”

“ _Did_ he.” There’s an expression on Nikandros’ face that Laurent can’t really interpret. Jealousy? Disappointment? It makes him uneasy, anyway, and it must show on his face, because Nikandros waves a hand at him.

“Oh, don’t look like that,” he says. “He just usually does it by himself so no-one else sees how worked up he gets.” It’s a reasonable explanation, but there’s still _something_ in Nikandros’ expression that sets Laurent on edge, all the cliches about socially repressed rugby players racing through his head. He’s reassessing whether he should even- stay, suddenly staring an evening of beer-swilling meatheads in the face, and his mood-shift must show in his face because Nikandros grabs his shoulder. “Hey. Don’t stress. He just doesn’t - he doesn’t let those parts of his life cross very often.” He gives Laurent a small smile. “You should feel privileged.”

It’s all he needs to rally. “Oh yes, very privileged,” he snipes, rolling his eyes and batting Nikandros’ hand away. “I get to sacrifice my study time to watch amateur idiots running around after a ball.”

“Nothin’ better!” Nikandros grins at him. “Wanna come outside?”

They make their way out into the yard and Laurent’s fears about passively hostile morons immediately dissipate when he’s greeted with a chorus of ‘ _Hey Laurent._ ’ He looks at Nik, who rolls his eyes. “Damen said anyone who was rude to you would start on the bench for all the finals games.”

Laurent immediately bristles. “I don’t need- I don’t need _Damen_ to look after me!” he says, indignant. "What kind of - this is fucked." He takes a swig of his wine and marches over to them. "All right. What are you talking about then."

The team exchange looks, and the other housemate - Pallas? - says, "Uhhh. We were actually talking about the World Cup."

Laurent grins, internally. Well. Maybe this wouldn’t be so awkward after all.

\--

"Nah, that’s bullshit," Laurent says, more loudly than is probably necessary. At the corner of his eye he sees Damen making his way into the backyard carrying two cases of beer like they’re nothing, what the hell. His incredulity at that feeds into his voice as he says, "England's form is shit, and even if they get it together, without that kicker - Warren? - they’ll collapse in the finals series like they always do."

He sees Damen start and nearly drop the beer, managing to offload it onto a table before making his way over to the argument Laurent’s just started. "What's this?" Damen sounds delighted, the same relentless cheerfulness he'd displayed the first time Laurent came to his house present now. "You're talking shop with Laurent?"

Pallas laughs. "He's talking shop with us! You didn't tell us your study pal knows rugby!"

"I didn't know!" Damen says, incredulous. Laurent sips his wine and smirks.

"You never asked," he said, piously, letting Damen splutter for a few seconds before he gives in, and laughs. "Auguste played. My brother. He was captain too, actually."

"Why didn't you say?!"

Laurent knows he'll regret being a flirt when he's sober. The wine's gone to his head, too quickly - he doesn't normally drink during semester, even on the break, and he doesn't have any tolerance for it. His limbs feel heavy and warm, and he's recklessly burning past the sensible barriers he's set for himself in this - whatever it is.

"I don't give up my secrets, Akielos," he says, leaning in to poke Damen in the chest. "You have to earn them."

"I see," Damen says. "How do I do that?"

Laurent pushes his empty glass into Damen's hands. "Get me a drink." Damen laughs, and goes. Laurent turns back to Pallas, who grins wryly at him and says, "You better supervise - he's liable to give you cooking wine otherwise."

"God forbid," Laurent says, mock-horrified, and follows Damen to the kitchen, where he’s poking around the fridge.

"Looking for this?" Laurent says, sing-song, and pulls the bottle of pinot out of its hiding place behind the chopping boards. "I don't trust house party attendees not to drink my expensive wine."

"Why do you bring expensive wine to house parties?" Damen counters, leaning into Laurent's space to pluck the bottle from his hand. He stays where he is, hip propped against the kitchen bench as he deftly pours a generous slug and proffers it.

Laurent takes the glass. The sensible voice in the back of his head is screaming at him to defuse the situation - Damen’s no more than a foot from him, loose-limbed and smiling, looking more attractive than he’s any right to in the fluorescent light of the kitchen - but he sips his wine instead and angles his body towards Damen, hand too-casual along the edge of the bench between them. “It stops me from drinking too much,” he says, in a sudden flash of honesty. “It feels like a waste if I drink anything else.”

Damen throws his head back and laughs. Laurent can’t help but stare at the line of his jaw and his throat and his collarbone - he looks like a fucking marble statue. “You’re an old man,” Damen says, chortling still.

“I just make bad decisions if I drink too much,” Laurent says. “Surely you’ve been there.”

“Yeah,” Damen agrees, “though honestly most of my bad decisions make pretty funny stories - or at least good videos on facebook. Last year I jumped off my mate’s roof into his pool. It looked fucking sweet when I watched the video the next day but I could’ve broken my neck.”

Laurent gulps his wine. “Please, don’t tell me stories like that,” he begs, shuddering.

Damen pulls a nondescript beer out of his shorts and cracks it, and Laurent thinks that if he has one goal this semester it's to break Damen of this horrific habit of carrying his drinks around, letting them get warm. "So what kind of bad decisions do you make, then?" 

This is dangerous territory, and Laurent feels himself rapidly becoming unmoored. He lets himself go in spite of his own good sense, knowing he'll spend tomorrow reliving this conversation mired in regret and unable to care.

"Typically," he says, "it involves unsuitable romantic entanglements." He ignores the irony.

"What counts as unsuitable?" Damen asks.

Laurent hums. "Well the fact that all parties are drinking doesn't help," he says, "but usually it's just that I'm not _really_ interested."

Damen laughs. "You're a heartbreaker."

Laurent smirks at him. "Luckily I always remember I'm not interested before anyone takes their clothes off."

"A heartbreaker who leaves you hanging!" Damen puts a hand to his chest in faux-shock. "I probably shouldn't be surprised."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Prickly, kind of mean, smart as, high standards..." Damen raises his eyebrows. "It's a tough," and he hesitates slightly but goes on, "person who manages to get through all that."

Laurent inclines his head in acknowledgement of Damen's diplomacy but ignores the unspoken question, saying instead, "Yes. None've managed yet." He sips his wine, sways just a little into Damen's space for a brief moment, and repeats, "Yet," and then walks out of the kitchen, back to the rugby boys.

\--

It’s - late. Against his better judgement, Laurent moved onto beers after he finished his wine, and he’s now flushed and laughing sitting around what could be charitably called a bin fire in Damen’s backyard with the uni rugby firsts. If this situation had been described to him this time last year he would have scoffed. He’s made friends with Pallas and Nathan over, weirdly enough, music, finding allies on the ‘Damen’s taste is shitty’ front. The numbers have been slowly but steadily dropping for the past half hour as one by one the party attendees beg off, heading inside or falling asleep where they’re sitting. Laurent feels the night tending towards its natural conclusion, and knows he should make his excuses, knows he will, but there’s part of him that wants to stay here, warm and groggy, chatting about nothing to Damen. Damen, whose skin is bronzed and radiant in the light of the bin fire, whose eyes crinkle at the corners and whose cheeks dimple when he laughs.

Somewhere in the recesses of Laurent’s brain, he knows he’s completely fucked.

It’s that thought which finally breaks through the alcohol-spurred bad decision-making he’d complained to Damen of earlier, which gets him carefully to his feet. “I should go, too,” he says. “But this was- good.”

Damen dimples at him again, loose-limbed. “You should come round more often.” He clambers out of his chair. “And look, no bad decisions at all. Guess I’m a good influence.”

They’re picking their way across the yard to the side gate, Damen close enough that Laurent can feel the warmth radiating off him. “You’re a terrible influence. I never drink this much.”

Damen smirks at him. “We both still have our clothes on.”

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you,” he says, lofty, flicking the gate lock. Damen follows him out, trailing him to the kerb.

“You mean it’s not enough to just be myself?” Damen is grinning at him.

Laurent rolls his eyes. “With lines like that it’s no wonder you’re drowning in girlfriends.”

There’s a - pause, and Laurent feels the space filling up with things he wants to say, but won’t, because- because what would be the point, honestly. The thought immediately sours his mood, the golden glow of the backyard draining out of the evening in a flash.

He manages a wan smile. “Thanks, again. See you soon.”

Damen claps him on the shoulder, and Laurent wants both to lean into the touch and shy away from it. “Yeah, good to have you round, mate.”

Laurent turns away from him and makes his way back over the road with the forced care of the intoxicated. He’s definitely not going to call Auguste tomorrow, hangover or no - he’ll see it in Laurent’s face in an instant. It’s with that sense of overwhelming resignation that he falls face-first into bed with his shoes on and passes out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> House parties full of wistful longing that no-one acts upon! A quintessential university experience.
> 
> 'Commcon' is Commonwealth Constitutional Law. (The Australian Constitution is very, very boring, compared to the American one).


	5. (mis)communication (offside)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurent gets an unwelcome email. Damen loses a study session. Nikandros is patient and Jokaste is obtuse.

It’s the worst possible news.

Auguste’s contact within the Education department flicks him a short email on Monday afternoon to warn him that the review of the meccano program’s funding has been brought forward two months to the board meeting on Wednesday - the last Wednesday before final exam week. The email doesn’t hint at the reason for the sudden agenda change but Laurent’s got no illusions about who’s behind it.

He had had a careful timeline about preparing for the review, had the structure of his draft submission prepared, and had begun laying the groundwork for the schools to make their own, drawing on particular students and parents to give feedback. He’d done all that work, and now none of it mattered because he would have to spend the next two days frantically finalising his own submission to have something - anything - pleading the program’s case before the board.

And all that in week before exams. He’s drawn the short straw on the exam timetable this semester; a punishing three exams in five days, although thankfully one’s a take-home, but they’re all lined up for the first week of the period - next week. So he’s got a choice - review properly for exams, or write a lone submission to the board in support of the program and lose two days of study time.

He’s almost certain that it’s coincidence. But he wouldn’t put anything past his uncle, at this point.

His phone buzzes to remind him that he has a study afternoon with Damen lined up in an hour and a half and that kicks his brain into overdrive. _Damen_. Damen had offered to look into funding through his father’s company. His initial, overwhelming compulsion is to leave Damen _out_ of this, it’s his problem and he needs to fix it himself - but then he remembers Auguste’s advice to mine his contacts, and there could be something, a stopgap - a grant, or something, just to buy a reprieve-

He’s bundled up his books and laptop without even really noticing, mind racing as he makes his way across the road to Damen’s place. He lets himself in through the back gate like he’s been doing for the past month, and nearly rounds the corner into the yard when some misplaced instinct screams at him to stop and he realises Jo’s car was in the front yard.

He peers carefully around the corner. They’re both sitting with their backs to him, thank god, on the same plastic outdoor garden chairs which seem to grace every uni student group house, conferring lowly about something. Damen is saying something urgent, expressive; by contrast, Jokaste is relaxed, but focused.

“-don’t, really, but if it gets me what I want then I’m prepared to do it,” Damen says, and Laurent feels his heart spike right into his mouth, a jolt of adrenaline pouring through his system.

“You need to do this for the right reasons,” she tells him. “I certainly don’t want you back if you’re not committed.”

It’s all he needs to hear. Laurent carefully picks his way back around the side of the house, silently unlocking the gate and heading back across the road. He’s gone cold, immediately building a numb wall between himself and the import of the conversation. It’s fine. He can figure this out by himself.

\--

They arranged a revision session weeks ago, and Laurent is late.

It’s not like him. On the few occasions that he wasn’t at lectures throughout semester, Laurent showed up to study like clockwork. The one time he skipped out it was because he’d had the flu and was sick as a dog, but he still gave Damen twelve hours’ notice.

By the time he’s twenty minutes late, Damen is starting to worry about him. He texts, and gets no response. He calls, but it goes immediately to voicemail. He makes his way overto Laurent’s house, seeing visions of - he doesn’t know what. Laurent delirious with a fever. Or- his is one of the nicest places in the street, what if someone broke in to nick his stuff and Laurent was there unexpectedly - the thought narrows his vision down and sends his blood racing through his limbs as he leaps up the front steps to hammer on the doorbell. “Laurent?!”

It doesn’t take long for the door to swing open. Laurent’s hair is pulled back, severe, and he looks drawn and tired. “Hey, Damen. What’s up?”

Damen’s relief at Laurent being unharmed swiftly transforms into confusion, annoyance. "We had a study thing planned? Are you ok?"

Laurent doesn't meet his eyes. "Yeah, sorry. Phone died, I had to go-"

"Laurent," Damen says, firmly. "What's going on?"

Laurent sighs, and looks up. "It’s - it’s nothing, I forgot about something I had to - I made a mistake," he says. "I... thought that - look, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry about ditching the study thing. Semester's basically over now anyway so you don't owe me anym-"

"Shut up," Damen snaps. "Do you really think I'm only studying with you because you won a dumb drinking game six months ago? You're my friend, you tosser!"

"I know!" Laurent says, like pulling teeth. "But that's not-"

"Not _what_?" Damen is getting angry now.

"Not what I want!" The words explode out of Laurent and he looks immediately regretful. "It's just- it's too hard, sitting across the table knowing- and I have to fix this thing - I need some space." His shoulders square, and he looks at a point over Damen's left shoulder. "I'll see you at the exam."

"Laurent-"

"Please leave," Laurent says, and shuts the door in his face. Damen stands, blinking at it, for a good ten seconds before he realises he has absolutely been told to fuck off.

Mind racing, he belts back over the road to his house and skids sideways into the living room where Nikandros is playing Xbox, his tongue sticking out between his teeth. "He shut the door on me," Damen tells Nikandros, still confused, still a bit angry. "He basically said he didn't want to be my friend." He doesn’t bother to specify who he’s talking about.

Nikandros sighs, pauses the game and tosses the controller onto the couch. "Kitchen," he directs, and Damen goes where he's instructed. Nikandros puts the kettle on, and props himself against the bench, arms crossed. "Is that really what he said? Damen. You know he's - you know you've been dancing around him for months now."

Hearing it said so bluntly is a relief. Damen levers himself up to sit on the kitchen bench and sighs. "Yeah."

"It's been pretty fucking obvious," Nikandros continues. "I'm honestly surprised none of those little study sessions devolved into something a little too R-rated for the library."

"Nik!" Damen protests, scandalised. "I wouldn't- besides, I don't know if he-"

"Damen. Damen, mate. My _best_ mate. I love you dearly but if you're going to try to bloody tell me you don't know if Laurent's into you I'm gonna give you a smack." Nikandros raises both eyebrows. "Do _not_ come at me with that nonsense, I swear."

"Nik!" Damen is starting to sound like a broken record. "You can't - I can't know that for sure."

Nikandros is nodding, "Oh, sure, no knowledge is ever truly objective, good job first year philosophy student, you'll be sure to get an HD on _that_ essay." He scoffs. "You're not stupid, Damen, I know you're not."

For a second, Damen ignores the voice that says letting himself think this way is a screamingly bad idea, the instinct that has stopped him from interpreting his friendship with Laurent as anything other than that, and lets himself look objectively at - at Laurent's first interaction with him, built on paper-thin pretense; at that first study session at his house, the tension that coiled in Damen's belly as they sparred gently back and forth; at the way Laurent had subtly-but-still-clearly felt his way around Damen's relationship with Jokaste, putting details together while skilfully avoiding anything resembling passing judgement; at the the things Laurent said, and _didn’t_ say, during the conversation at his door just now.

At that tipsy conversation at the mid-semester party. He'd buried his memory of it away, feeling like a terrible friend for overstepping the mark, letting it take on a significance he'd known it almost certainly didn't have. At least, he’d thought it didn't.

Looking at it again - after Laurent's abrupt withdrawal from his life, with Nikandros standing across from him in his kitchen telling him he's being an idiot, it almost seems too obvious that Laurent had been saying exactly what Damen had imagined he’d said.

He looks up, meets Nikandros' eyes. "Oh, god. You're right." Nikandros sighs, and smiles, beatifically. "What do I-"

"Uh-uh-uh," Nikandros says, holding up a finger and closing his eyes. "I need to burn the memory of you saying that into my brain. Give me a moment."

"Fuck off," Damen says, good naturedly. "What do I do now, smartarse?"

"I don't know, Damen," Nikandros tells him. "I'm not the one who's been hanging out with the guy for months now. What do you think you need to do?"

\--

Laurent's phone pings. He'd finally just muted Damen's number, so at least it wasn't from him, and anything would be better than having to re-live the conversation they'd had at his doorway - until he sees it’s from Jokaste.

Sighing, and steeling himself, he flicks the message open.

_Laurent. Darling. What on earth are you doing?_

_Immediately, short-term or long-term?_

_Don't be cute._

_Look, Jo. Jokaste. Are we friends?_

The phone shows a '...' from her for a long time. He knew it would take a while for her to formulate an answer, but she's chosen to compose and erase it so that he can see her doing so, which he takes as a good sign.

_Our interests aren't currently at odds, and you're a useful person to know._

He can't help but smile at his phone. He probably deserved that.

_When we met you told me Damen was 'affecting'. You're not wrong._

He's dangerously close to losing plausible deniability, here, and if Jokaste had been any less obvious about her own reasons for a civil relationship with him he wouldn't have said it. But she knows using this knowledge against him will burn bridges with him in the future, and she knows he knows it, too. 

_This isn't telling me anything I didn't already know._

_I need a break to let myself get over it. It's not fair to him. Or you._

_And it sucks for me, as well._

He thinks that might have punctured the fragile dance they were both doing to avoid speaking plainly, and there's another long silence, without the ellipses this time. Laurent sighs and switches his phone to locked, but it buzzes almost immediately.

_Or me?_

Laurent chews the inside of his cheek, thinking. Maybe that conversation had been - just about the student politics thing. But Damen had looked so _passionate,_  and he'd told Laurent he hated student politics _,_ and Jokaste had said - and she's a student politician to the bone, she wouldn't risk antagonising him unless they'd - made it official-

_I think it's pretty clear who he's carrying a torch for, Jo._

The response is immediate. _Ah._

_Exactly._

Another long pause, and then she says, cryptically, _I imagine all will become clear in time._

_I hope so_ , he sends back, and drops the phone with a groan, stretching out his neck. 11:30pm. Auguste will be online soon, and he can determinedly talk about anything other than this stupid situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh I wonder whether, if Laurent had stuck around and listened to the rest of that conversation, he might've got a different impression? (I don't wonder, I know. I've written the rest of it).


	6. extracurricular activities (try, and conversion)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurent leaves an exam early. Damen breaks a PB. They have a conversation in a carpark.

The International Relations Theory exam falls during the first week of exam period. Damen gets there forty-five minutes early and camps out near the door, determined to delay Laurent’s entry into the exam hall if he has to, but he didn’t count on Laurent’s determination to avoid him extending to being late enough that the scrutineers practically drag him bodily through the door before he has a chance to do anything but say Laurent’s name.

Laurent doesn’t meet his eyes and takes up a desk at the front of the room, eyes forward. There are no seats nearby and Damen has to sit a few rows behind, boring holes into Laurent’s back with his eyes.

He can’t concentrate on the exam. He honestly doesn’t care. He manages to acquit himself fine on the short answers thanks to a semester of arguing about every topic in the course ( _thanks to Laurent_ , says a small, mean voice at the back of his head). He flips to the essay section, and there at the top of the list is a retrenchment question. He allows himself a small smile, and for the first time in a week and a half actually focuses, thinking about structuring his answer.

He’s pretty sure it’s one of the best exam essays he’s ever written - but when he looks up with ten minutes to go to see that Laurent is gone, he can’t bring himself to care. He scribbles a half-hearted conclusion, handwriting gone messy and frantic, before racing up front to all but throw his paper at the scrutineer before sprinting out of the exam hall.

Laurent is long gone. He hasn’t responded to a single text from Damen since their semester classes, so he discards that thought almost immediately.  He’s standing in the centre of the quad, mind racing, when he suddenly has a stroke of luck and remembers their conversation during the touch game about Laurent’s volunteering. _Thursday lunchtimes_. He doesn’t know where he’s managed to dredge that little scrap up from but he doesn’t have time to think about it too deeply.

He’s got his phone out and on google maps within seconds, searching for nearby primary schools. There are two - of _course_ there are two - but on closer inspection, only one is a fully government-funded school, and Damen is willing to bet that a Catholic-run primary school doesn’t have anything like a volunteer-run meccano-therapy program for troubled kids.

Macquarie Primary School. It’s 4.6km away by foot, according to google, in the opposite direction to Damen’s place. He takes off his thongs and stuffs them in his pocket.

\--

It’s all Damen can do not to burst into the front office of the school demanding to see Laurent but if he races in there, chest heaving, without any shoes, he’s going to be immediately ejected from the school grounds. He paces once around the carpark, getting his breath back, and when he’s sure he’ll no longer sound totally winded makes his way into the office, pasting on his best, most charismatic smile. (He may not enjoy doing it, but Damen knows how to weaponise his dimples).

The front office ladies are lovely, and completely vulnerable to him. He charms his way into a visitor's pass with a very silly excuse about being from the education department here to look into the meccano program, which is ludicrous because he's wearing shorts and a tshirt, but they just sigh wistfully about 'how nice it must be to have such a relaxed dress code, now you just wait here and I'm sure Laurent will be out to collect you shortly -  _such_  a nice young man' and shoo him down the corridor to the visitor's bench.

He waits until they're both distracted and bolts. He doesn’t know anything about the layout of the primary school but he’d had a five kilometre run to dredge up everything Laurent had ever said about volunteering and he knows the classroom they use is a spare demountable at the back of the school, so he puts on his best official expression even though he’s rapidly sweating through his tshirt and makes his way towards the oval.

There’s a neat row of three demountable classrooms in an arc between the main school buildings and the oval. Damen surreptitiously peers into the window of the first - class full of kids. The second is empty, but there’s a meccano set out on the table - bingo.

He leaps up the three steps into the classroom and nearly jumps out of his skin when a small, piping voice says “Who are you?”

He turns to see a boy at his elbow - he can’t be much older than ten or eleven, although Damen finds it impossible to tell the ages of children between about seven and thirteen - they all look the same.

“My name’s Damen,” he says, earnestly. “I’m looking for a guy called Laurent, you might have-”

The boy heaves an enormous sigh. “So _you’re_ Damen.”

Damen is taken aback. “Uh... yes?”

The boy gives him a suspicious look. “He’s told me about you. He called you a ‘rude rugby-playing jerk’ at first but he’s started just calling you Damen lately.”

“Is that so,” Damen says, amused. “Is he here?”

“He’s gone to get a pen,” the boy says. “You know you’re not allowed to be here, right?”

Damen crouches down so he can meet the boy’s eyes. “I’m just here to talk to Laurent.”

That earns him a scowl. “You could be anyone. You’re not supposed to be here.” And he kicks Damen in the shin. It catches him by surprise, and he tips backwards and splays his hands out behind him to catch himself. The boy smirks at him and then opens his mouth to scream.

“Stop!” Damen hisses urgently. “Don’t! I’m sorry! You’re right, you’re right, I shouldn’t be here, I just really- I really need to talk to Laurent!”

“Damen?”

Laurent is standing at the door of the classroom, staring at the two of them.

“Oh thank god.” Damen clambers to his feet again, shooting a look at the kid, who’s glaring at him. “Your friend here was about to rat me out.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be here,” Laurent says, unsympathetically.

“Told you,” the kid says smugly, and Damen rolls his eyes as Laurent says,

“Be quiet, Nicaise.”

Nicaise slumps a little, but the look he’s giving Damen remains unfriendly, and he doesn’t move anywhere. Laurent raises his eyebrows at Damen.

“I’m not - I can’t talk to you in front of the kid.”

“I’m working,” Laurent says. “You shouldn’t be here at all.”

“Fine. Fine!” He throws up his hands. “But I’m going to wait for you in the carpark.”

Laurent looks like he’s about to argue, but then glances at Nicaise and thinks better of it. “All right. I’ll be out in half an hour.” He steps into the room and makes his way around the edge of it to the table where he’d obviously been sitting with the kid, a meccano set open on the table and a half-built - crane? - perched on the corner. He does not look at Damen again, and instead says “Come on,” in the vague direction of Nicaise, who slopes over to him and gives Damen one last half-hearted glare before turning in the direction of the meccano.

\--

When Laurent finally exits the school grounds, having exhausted all of his options to delay leaving, the first thing he sees is Damen. Damen, propped against the driver’s side door of Laurent’s car, looking for all the world like a model in an ad campaign selling clapped out old corollas. His shabby exam-day casual shorts and t-shirt do nothing to detract from his arms and his shoulders and his - _thighs_ -

Laurent cuts off that train of thought, firmly, and strides over to the car. No need to draw this out.

“Well, you’ve got me,” he says, once he’s close enough to Damen that he doesn’t need to shout. He still pauses several metres away. “What is it?”

“You’re into me,” Damen says, without preamble, and Laurent feels himself flush instantly despite the cold, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Of course it was too much to hope that he hadn’t been blatantly obvious, hadn’t given himself away by degrees. He says nothing, sure there’s nothing he could say which would improve the situation, and when it becomes clear he’s committed to this Damen breathes out a huge sigh and then smiles at him, so gently Laurent can feel his fucking traitorous heart shattering in his chest.

“You’re such a tool,” Damen says, and despite his inner turmoil Laurent is indignant enough to let his neutral facade slip and feels a short reply bubbling to the surface, when Damen steps forward and sweeps him into a hug.

They’ve hugged before. Damen is a physically affectionate person with everyone, and Laurent has not been exempt from being dragged into a high-five, getting clapped on the shoulder, having an arm slung around his neck. But he’s never been enveloped like this before, and certainly never been so low that he can’t help but let himself sink into Damen’s all-encompassing warmth and affection. He hates himself when he feels the fight go out of him all at once.

Damen says, into his hair, “Do you really think it’s one-sided?”

That brings it back. Laurent struggles, breath going short, but Damen absorbs it as calmly as he’s taken all of Laurent’s niggling remarks over the past six months. His head swims. It could be oxygen deprivation from the strangling hug. “What? Get absolutely fucked, Damen, this isn’t funny.”

“I’m not here to practice my standup,” Damen says. “I had a whole dramatic thing planned for after the exam but you ghosted. I was gonna get the student choir in, you know, the whole shebang.”

“Damen-”

“That _was_ a joke. Not very good, I do need to practice.” He pauses, sighs. “You complete nerd, I’ve been keen on you for ages.”

With a strength borne of desperation, Laurent somehow manages to pry himself out of the hug, steps back a foot. Surveys Damen warily, looking for any indication that this is some kind of last - cruel joke, a nonsensical rugby ritual meant to burn out the last vestiges of affectionate feeling he has left. And sees nothing but a small, private smile, stretching all the way to Damen’s warm, brown eyes.

“You’re serious.”

Damen laughs softly at that. “I wouldn’t have risked being charged with some kind of trespass onto primary school grounds bullshit if I wasn’t serious.”

Laurent draws in a breath, exhales. “ _Fuck._ ”

Damen grins at him. “Tell me about it.”

“But - I heard you talking to Jokaste - about the student politics thing and dating again, and I-”

A frown, and then Damen’s expression clears. “That’s what this is about?” He laughs, incredulous. “Laurent, I was asking Jo about student politics because I wanted to help _you_ , you massive dickhead. Dad said I’d be more convincing to his board if I could bring those connections in.” He steps forward again and cups Laurent’s face in his hands, and Laurent can’t help the full-body shudder it drags out of him, like all his anxiety and fear is bleeding out of him at once.  “You’re an incredible person, Laurent deVere, and I know you think your brother’s the shit - and he seems like a cool guy, like, don’t get me wrong - but you don’t need to live up to anyone because you’re great, ok, you’re totally perfect how you are. You’re funny, you’re smart as hell, you know sports, and for some inexplicable reason you like me, so-”

“For fuck’s sake, have you seen yourself,” Laurent says, rolling his eyes. “You look like a fucking marble statue in one of Jokaste’s textbooks.” He bites his lip. “I don’t - I can’t do a big confession,” he says, more quietly. “I- you’ve- I’m not-”

“It’s ok,” Damen tells him. “I didn’t say all that because I wanted you to say something back. I said it because I wanted to. I like you, a lot, so much that when you wouldn’t talk to me I- ask Nik, I turned into a fucking wreck, he had to make me a cup of tea and give me a stern talking-to about what an idiot I was being.”

"Sounds right," Laurent says. Damen laughs again, and strokes his thumbs along Laurent's cheekbones.

"Can I kiss you?"

" _Yes_ ," Laurent says, and he'd blush at how pathetic his voice sounds and how quickly he loses his breath but he doesn't have time to think about it in any detail before Damen -leans in and Laurent tilts his head up and slides his hands around Damen’s waist and their lips meet, Laurent’s heart hammering in his chest. Damen is warm, and achingly gentle, like he’s waiting for Laurent to startle and run. Laurent sighs into kiss and melts against Damen’s hold.

It's Damen who breaks it, but he leans his forehead against Laurent's immediately and says, "Do you think I could get a lift home?"

Laurent takes a second to process. "What? How did you get here, where's your car?"

Damen smiles ruefully at him. "I walked to uni this morning. When I realised you'd gone I was worried if I went home to get my car I'd be too late, so I just ran here."

"Ran- Damen that's insane, it's got to be-"

"Nearly 5K, pretty sure I broke my PB actually," Damen admits. "Adrenaline I guess. Shame it wasn't before a big game."

"Yes, what a loss," Laurent says, tartly. "I can't believe you _ran_ here, you could have just gone home and sat on my doorstep." He looks down. "And you're wearing fucking thongs, Damen!"

"Ran barefoot. And, well, in lieu of the choir I had to impress you with my athleticism," Damen says, seriously, and Laurent thumps him on the chest.

"Get in the car, idiot." He leans up and kisses Damen again, because he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've got to randomly name an Australian institution you can't go wrong with 'Macquarie'.
> 
> I'm sure everyone knows this by now but thongs = flip flops. Sorry not sorry for the mental image if you see thongs as the other thing.


	7. summer holidays (winning the series)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small, sun-drenched coda. Damen has some news. Laurent is surprised.

A beach holiday on the south coast with the university rugby team and their various partners isn’t exactly how Laurent had pictured spending the week before Christmas but it had been a year of bizarre firsts for him. It’s a little bit frustrating that he has to re-apply SPF50+ every ninety minutes while watching Damen running around in the sun for hours, going a darker and darker shade of bronze; but when Damen sprints up out of the surf, seawater plastering curls to his face, and dives onto his towel next to Laurent under the umbrella, he can’t really bring himself to care all that much - until Damen swoops in to give him a wet hug and Laurent strangles down an undignified screech, pushing at him ineffectually. “ _Why would you do this to me?”_ He flops back onto his towel, dramatically. “Betrayal.”

“You looked hot,” Damen says seriously. “More than usual.”

Laurent groans. “Save me from your fucking dad jokes, I swear.”

“Oh, speaking of dads,” Damen says, digging his sunglasses out of wherever he’d stashed them, “I told mine about your volunteering thing a while back. Anyway he looked into it and one of his companies is going to fund it!” He beams at Laurent. “Worked out well!”

It’s all Laurent can manage not to do a double-take like a cartoon character. “What?”

"Yeah, I... might have thought it would be a big romantic gesture?” He gives Laurent a sheepish grin. “Turns out funding takes way longer to sort out than I thought, though. Anyway I mentioned it to Dad because he's got a few connections, turns out the water utility is big on community investment and whatever and they were really keen to put their name to the program and buy the kits and do the background checks for the volunteers, all that stuff. It's a tax writeoff for them, you know." He’s back to beaming. "So your funding issues are solved!"

"Did you know?" Laurent demands. "Did you know the funding was cut? I've been waiting on the board decision for two weeks now, I was sure I hadn't-"

Damen looks confused. "You told me it was being - reviewed, I just thought I could jump the gun and get some support happening?"

Laurent stares at him. "You live a charmed life, Damianos."

"What are you talking about? You're being very strange about this."

Laurent sighs. "It's - my uncle is on the education funding board for the government. He's kind of an arsehole and he's had it out for the program since - well. Since Auguste set it up."

"Auguste set it up?!" Damen sits bolt upright. "Wait, your uncle wants to get rid of it? Why?"

"It's... look, it's a long story, family drama, challenges to wills, all the rest of it." He sighs, firmly turning his thoughts away from... _that_. "But yeah, it was Auguste's idea, part of his community service for Duke of Edinburgh and then he pitched it to the government and got it formally endorsed... anyway, he's really proud of it and I couldn't tell him about the funding ending." He closes his eyes. "I thought - they told me it'd been cancelled."

"Yeah, that was before Dad's company offered to fund it," Damen says. "Hey, this is good! Are you ok?"

Laurent wills himself not to choke up and manages, but it’s a near thing. “I don’t - I was coming to ask for your help with it. When I overheard your conversation with Jo. I was desperate, and I backed out, and it turns out you did it anyway, without me even asking you.” He sighs. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“You better believe it,” Damen says seriously, and leans in to kiss him, casual. Laurent pushes him over with an insistent hand on his shoulder and Damen goes, yielding sweetly, as Laurent deepens the kiss, tasting salt on Damen’s lips.

“Keep that up and we’ll have to go back to the house early,” Damen murmurs against him.

“No need,” Laurent murmurs back. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we are finally! I was going to drag this out but then RL made me Sad so here it all is at once.
> 
> This is the longest thing I've written in my entire life and by far the longest piece of fiction. I'm still stunned I kept the momentum up enough to get to the end, undoubtedly large number of flaws notwithstanding.
> 
> I've been really touched by the reaction to this extremely silly little story - thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos and comments, it's been really sweet to hear how you've all enjoyed this.


End file.
